The Spanish Bride

4

It was not many days before Harry heard from Lambert that he was to be employed with the army in Belgium, and that Harry had better be prepared to join him at a few hours’ notice. He would go as Major of Brigade again, a situation which suited him very well. The sisters shed tears, but Juana and Harry danced a fandango, in such wild spirits that sighs and tears were felt to be out of place. The house in St Mary’s Street was transformed suddenly into something very like a military depot; and Anna, seeing tents overhauled, canteens restocked, riding-habits, boots, and boat-cloaks spread out for inspection, was so envious of Juana that she could scarcely bring herself to face her own humdrum future. The most urgent need was for horses. Harry pronounced both Tiny and his own mare too old for further military service, and went off to Newmarket, with Juana and his father, to procure a stud. He bought two good horses there, two more in Whittlesey, and, from his brother Stona, a beautiful mare of his father’s breeding for Juana. They called her The Brass Mare; and a fine, strong creature she was: a perfect lady’s mount-provided that the lady was a perfect rider.

Betsy declared that Harry’s promotion to the rank of Major had quite gone to his head. She said he would very soon be ruined, for besides the batman he would have as soon as he joined the army, he was taking West, a young groom to look after Juana’s horse, and a lady’s maid. How, she demanded, did he mean to transport himself, his wife, his brother Charles, three servants, five horses, and a pug-dog to Ostend?

‘Oh, I shall contrive somehow!’ said Harry carelessly.

Charles, a trifle self-conscious in a brand-new Rifleman’s uniform, was going to accompany Harry. He hoped he would be given a chance to distinguish himself in the coming campaign, because within one hour of putting on his Volunteer-jacket, he had only one ambition: to exchange his shoulder-straps for a pair of Rifle-wings.

Hardly had all the preparations been completed, and the sisters dissuaded from pressing on Juana all manner of comforts which they could as well have carried, said Harry, as the parish Church, than another letter arrived from Sir John Lambert. Sir John was starting for Ghent immediately, and recommended Harry to proceed via Harwich for Ostend to join him. West and Jenkins were sent off at once to Harwich with the horses, Harry arranging to follow with his wife and brother by post-chaise. On their last day at home, he and Juana went riding with John and the sisters, and Harry very nearly put an end to his career by taking a last jump on his old mare. She fell with him, pinning his leg to the ground under her shoulder. For one dreadful minute, the rest of the party expected to see Harry either dead or crippled. No such thing! He was not hurt, and as soon as he found he could not drag his leg out, he passed his hand down till he got a short hold of the curb-rein, gave the mare such a snatch that she made a convulsive effort to rise, and he was able to draw his leg out. He staggered up, bruised, shaken, and faint, but with no bones broken. ‘Good God!’ he said, with an unsteady laugh, ‘there was nearly an end to my Brigade-Majorship that time!’

He was not a penny the worse for the accident next morning; he did not even seem to be very stiff, which was the least, his father said, he deserved to be. At three in the morning, the post-chaise was at the door, and all the misery of parting had to be faced. Poor John, sending three of his sons to the war, was dreadfully upset. ‘Napoleon and Wellington will meet; there will be a battle of a kind never heard of before. I shall not see you all again,’ he said mournfully. All the sisters showed red eyes, and clutched damp handkerchiefs. Juana was kissed again and again; Harry was bidden to take the greatest care of her; a basket of refreshments for the journey was handed into the chaise; Matty, Juana’s country-bred maid, climbed in after it, clutching an armful of cloaks and parcels; and at last they were off. They reached Harwich in the afternoon, and went at once to the Black Bull, where Harry had stayed years before when he had embarked with Moore for Gothenburg. Mr Briton, the landlord, remembered him at once, but said rather dampingly that unless he freighted a craft he had no chance of embarking from Harwich. Every packet was full to overflowing, every ship of any tonnage at all had been commandeered by the Government for the transport of troops.

Charles was much cast-down by this intelligence, but Harry, always at his energetic best when there were difficulties to be overcome, at once set about finding a suitable craft. He got wind of a sloop of a few tons’ burden, and next day, after long and noisy bargaining, came to terms with the skipper, who, with one boy, formed the entire crew of the vessel. Careful measurement satisfied Harry that there would be just room enough for the horses with a little hole left over, aft, for himself, his wife, and his brother to crowd into. Charles, inspecting the ship in dismay, blurted out: ‘This will never do for Jenny!’ ‘Not do for me?’ said Juana, coming out of the tiny cabin on to the deck. ‘Why not?’ ‘It’s so dingy! There is no room for a lady!’

‘Basta! I am not a lady, but, on the contrary, a good soldier. When do we sail on this dear little boat, Enrique?’

That was the trouble: they could not sail until the wind was fair, on account of the horses, and, by ill-luck, a spell of foul weather had set in.

It kept them kicking their heels in Harwich for a fortnight, but at last it wore itself out, the horses and all the baggage were got aboard, and they set sail on an afternoon of sunshine. A gentle breeze carried them over to Ostend in twenty-four hours. They had to land the horses there by slinging them, and lowering them into the sea to swim ashore. When the Brass Mare was in the slings, she saw the land, and neighed loudly, an omen of success, Juana declared.

They stayed for three days in Ostend, putting up at the great inn there, which was teeming with visitors, both civil and military. Harry soon found an English horse-dealer, and bought a couple of good mules and a Flemish pony from him, for the baggage. They met several acquaintances in Ostend, and learned that the 1st battalion of the Rifles was at Brussels, and the whole army concentrated behind the frontier, in the closest touch with the Prussians.

When they reached Ghent, they found that Sir John had arrived there only a day before them. Sir John received Juana in the kindest way, and soon began to treat her as though she had been his daughter. His brigade consisted of four old Peninsular regiments: the 4th, 27th, and 40th, and the 81st, which was employed on garrison duty at Brussels. He told Harry that they must be ready to take the field at an instant’s warning.

‘No trouble about that!’ said Harry.

‘Not for my brigade,’ Sir John agreed, ‘but I can tell you this, my boy: the Duke has no such army here as we have been accustomed to. The only way he can make anything of it is to scatter the old troops amongst the raw battalions. I’ve learned already that some of the Generals are pretty sore at having their old numbers taken from them. Alten has the new 3rd division; Picton gets the 5th; Colville has the 4th. What’s left of you Light Bobs are spread amongst the rest. Colborne is with the 52nd in Clinton’s and division-Adam’s brigade-and so are your 2nd and 3rd battalions. Barnard, with the 1st battalion, is in Picton’s division, under Kempt. Then there’s Lord Uxbridge commanding the cavalry instead of Cotton: everything seems topsy-turvy to us old stagers.’ The brigade continued to be stationed at Ghent, but as the French King’s court was established there, it was quite a centre of activity, and was very often visited, not only by Wellington, and the other great men in the army, but by any officer who could get leave, and had a fancy to visit Ghent instead of Brussels. Tom Smith, who was stationed near Ath, came to pay a flying visit to Harry. He laughed when he heard that Charlie had got himself into the regiment as a Volunteer, but wished that he had been in his battalion. Charlie had gone off to join the 1st battalion in Brussels, where there was no doubt that Harry’s friends would make him welcome.

The Smiths had a very good billet in Ghent, and as soon as their particular cronies heard of their arrival, they received so many visits that it seemed as though they had come to Belgium to enjoy a social round rather than to take part in an arduous campaign. But Charlie Gore, who had Once given a ball in Sanguessa, after Vittoria, and who was still Kempt’s ADC, told them that they had missed all the best of the fun. ‘Nothing but parties and balls and picnics, I give you my word!’ he declared. ‘We don’t go so far afield now. Old Hookey don’t like it. There’s a good deal of movement on the frontier. They say Boney’s still in Paris, though. By Jove, Harry, you are in luck to have got home from America in time for this affair!’

That was the opinion held by everyone: to be out of this campaign would be the greatest piece of ill-luck imaginable. But Kincaid, riding to Ghent from Brussels, said that they wanted Harry back with them as Brigade-Major.

‘Hi, you long, lanky devil, what do you mean by that?’ demanded Charlie Eeles indignantly. ‘Aren’t I good enough for you?’

‘You do your best, little man,’ said Kincaid, with odious patronage. ‘You certainly aren’t as noisy, which I admit is an advantage.”

‘No fighting in my expensive billet!’ Harry called out. ‘I’d rather be with Lambert than in old Picton’s division. It’s too melancholy to see The Division broken up like this! How do you get on with the other fellows in your brigade? Whom have you got?’

‘The Slashers, the 32nd, and the Cameron Highlanders: couldn’t be better!’ replied Eeles. Kincaid sighed. ‘We don’t mix with ’em much,’ he said. ‘Speaking for myself, I miss our old friends the Caçadores. They do say that old Douro tried to get ’em sent back to us.’ ‘Never mind! We’ve always got the Dutch-Belgians,’ said Eeles unctuously. ‘What are the Prussians like?’ Harry asked.

‘Don’t know: don’t see anything of ’em. I suppose you know we’ve lost the Lion d’Or, Harry?’ ‘Nothing to grumble about in that,’ replied Harry. ‘I never thought so much of Cotton. If we’ve got Uxbridge, we’ve got a damned good man: we knew him when he was with Moore.’ ‘But tell me!’ interrupted Juana. ‘Where is dear Charlie Beckwith?’ ‘Oh, still on the QMG staff! Hasn’t he been to see you? The fact of the matter is, they’re devilish busy in the QMG’s office. That’s what makes us think we shall soon be on the move. What’s it like, being quartered in Ghent? Do you see much of the French troops? Are they any good?’

‘Lord, no!’ said Harry. ‘Never saw such a set of fellows in my life! The King’s impressive enough, but he can’t set eyes on one of us, without saying how delighted he is to see us, and how much he is indebted to our nation. He’s told me so twice.’

‘Listen to this!’ said Kincaid admiringly. ‘Court circles and all! Just fancy our Major Smith!’ ‘Yes, the King leaned on Enrique’s shoulder!’ said Juana.

‘I thought he seemed even more pleased with himself than usual, didn’t you, Charlie?’ ‘Yes, but I put it down to his promotion,’ Eeles replied promptly.

‘Oh, Charlie, no! Johnny, how could you say such a thing?’ cried Juana, quite distressed. ‘Don’t let them roast you, hija? Harry said, grinning.